Burn Out Bright
by Milkshake Butterfly
Summary: What does a conversation between two friends on a Mediterranean island have to do with the end of the Game and a Quickening in an alley in Paris? It's not what you think...


Burn Out Bright - A Lyric Wheel Story 

**Burn Out Bright**  
_Written for the Quickening Lyric Wheel_

  


_Disclaimer:_ They are owned by Panzer/Davis, Rysher, etc. I just borrowed them.   
_About the Lyric Wheel:_ This started out as a Highlander thing and has now spawned into several fandoms. The idea is, a group gets together, sends each other lyrics according to a system, and then writes a story based on/using the lyrics. It's different then standard songfic in that the song doesn't make an appearance in the story - only the lyrics do. By tradition, Lyric Wheel pieces are also unbetad - so any mistakes herein are soley mine. For more information, please visit the Lyric Wheel webpage: http://www.angelfire.com/pa2/lyricwheel/index.html   
_Thanks to:_ Lore Krajsman for the lyrics. When I got them I thought, "Oh, man, I am so screwed." Then the inspiration struck, and I think the end result sort of proves the whole Lyric Wheel concept as being sound. Generalized thanks to Amand-r for the Lyric Wheel, and thanks as always to Jae, who lets me rant at her. Word hates all of your names.

_This story comes with a tissue warning._

  


***********************************

**Burn Out Bright**

  


To an inexperienced observer, the rising white glow might have appeared to be nothing more than mist, strangely backlit. It started low to the ground around the freshly fallen body, a cloud of mysterious luminescence, and rose in tendrils, seeking upwards. It hovered for a heartbeat in place, then lashed out across the short space between the fallen body and the triumphant fighter, swirling around him almost hypnotically, a spiral of glowing power. 

Then the lightning began. 

***********************************

It was sunny, almost incredibly so. The light had an uniquely brilliant quality here, seeming almost alive as it touched down on the crystal waters of the Mediterranean. Overhead the sun lit the sky to a shade of blue that was indescribable, without a cloud in site to spoil the vivid intensity of it. There was a slight, cooling breeze, carrying with it the sounds of waves against the sandy shore the boat pointed towards. 

Duncan MacLeod stood in the small boat, shading his eyes with one hand as he studied the coastline before him. When he finally caught sight of what he searched for, sprawled not far from the tree line, he smiled, and raising his voice called out, "Methos!" 

The figure on the shore raised its head and slowly sat up as Duncan took up the oars once more and eased the boat onto the beach. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," the British voice drifted over the white sand. "Good to see you. Come over and have a beer." 

With a grin, Duncan leapt out of the boat. 

***********************************

It started small, that lightning, a few tendrils almost seeming to reach out and test the figure they latched onto. They leapt away almost as quickly, grounding in the walls around him, in the lamp posts and cars, in everything it could find, but only for the briefest of instants. Then it would leap back into the standing form, faster and faster, more of them coming from seemingly everywhere and nowhere, from the sky and ground and all things between. 

The object of the lightning's assault barely moved at first, making no sound, but as the attacks grew more vicious, his arms flung out almost without conscious violation, seeking balance in the center of the storm. 

***********************************

The beach was comfortable, surprisingly so, but then MacLeod should have known his friend would manage to pick a good spot. After 5,000 years, Methos was well aware of the value of a little comfort. The beer was cold and the conversation good, and for a while, they talked about nothing in particular. 

It was nice, and soothing, but something about it felt wrong. Duncan found himself laying back on sun warmed sand at one point, staring around with a faintly puzzled expression on his face and no real idea why he was doing it. 

"Looking for something, MacLeod?" Methos' voice drifted over from where the old man was getting another beer out of the cooler. As MacLeod rolled on to one side to look at him, he finally figured out what was wrong. 

"Looking for a sign of life," he replied quietly, narrowed eyes looking into the underbrush just beyond the other man. 

"MacLeod?" Methos' eyebrows were raised in polite inquiry. 

"There's no birds, no animals at all," Duncan said slowly, pushing himself into a seated position. 

Methos' smile was wry, and his eyes strangely tight. "No, but there wouldn't be, would there?" he sighed, quietly, but MacLeod still heard him. 

"Methos, what....?" 

The other man looked at him for a moment, crouching beside the cooler, then stood abruptly, glancing out over the ocean for a moment. "Run and tell all of the angels," he muttered, "This could take all night." Without preamble, he walked over to beside Duncan again and sat -- but without the bottle of beer MacLeod had been expecting. 

There was silence for a time, and Duncan found himself relaxing again despite everything, leaning back into the sand. It was a surprise to hear Methos speak again. 

"Duncan, the boat is drifting away." 

He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked. Sure enough, the boat was drifting out on the waves. Somehow, though, Duncan found it hard to care. 

"It doesn't matter," he said, laying back down. 

He couldn't see Methos, but he could hear the concern in his tone. "How will you leave, though?" 

He shrugged, displacing sand against his back. "I guess I'll make my way back home when I learn to fly," he said lightly. 

He heard Methos laugh softly. "A flying highlander... now that would be something to see." He laughed again, and Duncan found himself joining in. 

***********************************

The lightning was becoming even more frantic now. It seemed determined to gain something from the upright figure, but the person in the center of the storm remained strangely silent. 

"Is this... is this _all_?" said one marveling voice slightly away from the madness, yet within easy viewing distance. 

Her companion shook his silvering head almost sadly. "No. No... this is just the beginning." 

Inside the volley of lightning, the figure released its first pained scream, and both observers closed their eyes for a moment, as though to block out the sound. 

"Only the beginning," the man said again, and there was no disguising the sorrow in his voice. 

***********************************

He was almost asleep when Methos asked the question. 

"MacLeod, do you know much about the mind?" 

He opened one eye to see Methos leaning on one arm nearby, drawing patterns in the sand with his free hand. "A little," Duncan said warily, feeling strangely threatened by this conversation. 

"It's a funny thing," Methos said, carefully not looking at him. "A person can go years, survive countless darkness and evils, live through unspeakable amounts of pain, and then just choke on one thing. One thing that, in the end, doesn't seem to compare much to all those things that have come before." He tilted his head slightly, contemplating the pattern in the sand from another angle. "Perhaps it simply says "I'm done nursing this patience" and gives in, looking for a way out. Looking because it's tried of trying..." 

Duncan shifted uncomfortably. "Methos, where is this going?" 

The other man smiled slightly. "Funny you should put it that way." He sighed and laid on his back, staring into the brilliant sky. "I'd like to think I can wait one night, just this one night, but I can't, can I?" He raised his head, looking out over the shining ocean. "Of course not." He sighed again, then turned to look at MacLeod. His eyes were tight again. "Where is it you think we are, Highlander?" 

Duncan sat up a little and shrugged uncomfortably. "Why ask me? It's your island." 

Methos shook his head. "No, MacLeod. It is not. Well, I admit there is a certain place in the real Mediterranean a lot like this that I'm very fond of, but this is most certainly not _my_ island." He looked away again, back over the ocean, and then turned back to MacLeod, pronouncing each word distinctly. "It is your island." 

Duncan shook his head quickly, dislodging a trickle of sand stuck to the back of his neck. "No, no, it's not..." 

Methos only looked at him. 

***********************************

It was growing strangely brighter in the alley, a light composed in part of the lightning, but more stemming from the figure itself. The sound of explosions could be made out now as the bolts that arced between the still-standing person and the rest of the world increased in power, increased in destructive potential. All around, the rest of the world had grown dark, but in this little alley in Paris, a new sun was rising. The screams grew louder, torn without conscious violation from the man as each new bolt ripped into him and from him, imparting more than just the pain of their own electricity. 

A shower of sparks rained down from above as lights and signs blew out, unable to stand up to the growing punishment any longer. Small fires started in a handful of places where the fell, quickly put out by the rising wind. It wasn't raining, but above, black clouds seethed and raged, lightning in them mimicking the dance of the lightning below. 

As a particularly large scream was wrenched from the now shaking figure, a muffled explosion elsewhere signaled the loss of power to the greater Paris area. 

***********************************

"Think about it, MacLeod." Methos voice was low and urgent, and he was staring at the younger man with a strange intensity. "How did you get here? Where is here? Why is there nothing and no one living around?" 

"There's you," MacLeod said almost frantically, sitting fully upright. "You're here, and you're alive." 

There was a strange silence from Methos. "Am I?" he finally asked, softly. 

"Of course yew are! I'm talking to yew!" Duncan said frantically, Scottish accent leaking into his voice. Deliberately, he took control of himself and forced the accent away. "This isn't funny, Methos," he growled. 

The other man sat up, resting his hands in his lap. "It's not meant to be," he said, flatly. 

Duncan shook his head angrily. "Have you lost your mind?" 

"Have you lost yours?" The question was quiet, but totally, utterly serious. 

"What?" Duncan sputtered. 

Methos leaned forward, eyes narrowing again. "_Think_, MacLeod. _Remember_. You know what is happening. You know what is really going on. You know-" 

"No," Duncan whispered, but Methos ignored him. 

"that right now, in Paris, you are in an alley, because," 

"_No_," Duncan said, much louder and firmer, but Methos continued. 

"_Because_ it's the Gathering. Because it came, finally, and was worse than we could have ever imagined." The other man did pause then, capturing Duncan's gaze in his own. "And right this moment, you're not here at all... because you just killed me." 

"NO!" 

***********************************

The scream of denial was ragged and raw, torn from the man who was now acting as a living lightning rod, and Joe found himself turning away, scanning the faces behind him. The faces of nearly two dozen Watchers, come to see the one event they'd never truly expected they would see: the end of the Game. 

To one side, he could see Amy. His daughter was sitting on a discarded box, staring blindly at the pavement, seeming oblivious to the terrible spectacle taking place not far from her right side. Sarah Reagan was crouched beside her, talking in a low, urgent voice. For both of them, their jobs were in a way already over, ended in the single, impossible stroke of a sword that had ended the life of the world's oldest Immortal and begun something else entirely. 

Behind him, another ragged scream came, and wincing slightly, Dawson forced himself to turn and face the sight of his assignment and his friend as he was battered by whatever forces it was that the Quickening represented. 

So he saw, with everyone else, when Duncan MacLeod's feet first left the ground. 

***********************************

"No," MacLeod said again when the echoes of his scream had faded. 

Methos merely raised an eyebrow at him. "That's not going to help. Perhaps you'd like to try raging against God instead? Perhaps you'd like the find whoever came up with the Game and say to them, 'Hook me up a new revolution, this one is a lie?'"

"It _is_ a lie. You told me so yourself." 

"No, I said I didn't _believe_ in the Game. It turns out I was wrong. It happens, MacLeod. I'm not perfect, none of us are." 

Duncan closed his eyes and shook his head. "Why?" he choked out. 

He couldn't see, but he could hear the sound of Methos laying back down again. The older man's voice was tight as he began to speak. "Do you know what happened after Cassandra escaped us, back when I was one of the Horsemen?" he said, and Duncan suppressed a shiver before shaking his head. "She'd gotten the better of one of us, one of the _gods_ we claimed ourselves to be, and there was no way to keep it quiet amongst the other slaves. So we killed them, all of them. We sat around laughing and watched the last one die." There was old pain in his voice, bitterness, and a barely leashed fury. "Because it was good _policy_." There was a ragged sigh, then, "I've seen too much, lived through too much. I didn't want to live through this as well. I didn't really want to end up with the Prize if it meant someone who had done... _that_... would have as much power as some people believe the winner will." There was another pause. "Besides, MacLeod, you're too much of a good guy to manage another 400 years on your own," Methos added, and somehow there was a smile in his voice. 

Duncan's eyes flew open. "You think I need a devil to get things right," he said, almost accusingly. 

"And as devils go, I imagine I'm the only one you'd tolerate." Methos looked over at MacLeod, and noting the expression, sighed. "Duncan, if it was ever going to be a choice between me and you, I knew what it would be from the moment I met you." 

"No, I won't... I won't let you die." Duncan insisted. 

Methos laughed shortly, a bark of sound. "_Not_ a lot of choice right now." 

"But you're here," he insisted. 

The older Immortal shrugged. "Probably something to do with the Quickening. I'm not sure myself, but it amuses me that I've finally managed to beat that little fact of Immortal life about having no long death scenes." 

"Methos..." Duncan trailed off, his voice uncertain. 

The other man sighed. "We'll live happily ever trapped here if you just save my life, MacLeod. I won't die, but you won't live, either, and we'll be caught in some sort of limbo." 

"You don't know that." 

"Yes, I do. Please, MacLeod, people back there need you. Joe's probably standing in that alley right now watching you scream." 

***********************************

He left the ground slowly, rising into the air like some sort of damned god, body rigid in the white glow that still enveloped him. Lightning still leapt from earth and sky to assault him, but he was no longer screaming anymore, only frozen, jaw clenched in silence as he rose into the sky. 

The Watchers, all of them, even Amy and Sarah, were standing not far away, necks craned to watch. An expectant hush had fallen over the group that was looking to the sky to save them, watching the man who would, very shortly, have the prize. 

The white glow appeared to be holding him, stretching from the body below, twining around him in strange patterns, pulsing with life. The wind was blowing even stronger now, and thunder rumbled overhead like the wrath of angels. 

Yet for all the activity, there was a strange sense of waiting. 

***********************************

MacLeod was pacing now, but Methos had apparently given up and was reclining on his back, beer in hand, staring at the sky. "You know," he mused, "this isn't such a bad way to spend the afterlife... a nice warm beach, plenty to drink, decent companionship..." he glanced over at MacLeod. "Well, companionship, anyway." 

MacLeod ignored him and began moving farther down the beach, stopping to look around every so often. He hadn't gotten very far when Methos caught up with him. 

"What _are_ you doing, MacLeod?" 

"I'm looking for a complication," he said, refusing to look at the other man. "This can't be real." 

Methos stopped moving and shook his head. "MacLeod..." 

Duncan pivoted around and glared at him. "This isn't happening." 

"No, it's not," Methos agreed, tucking hands into his pockets. 

"And I'm not in an alley in Paris getting your Quickening, either." 

"Sorry, can't agree with you on that one." Methos sighed. "Look, do you think I wanted to die? Do you think I was looking for something to help me burn out bright? I would have been very happy to go on living. But the Gathering happened, and if that was real, then the Prize probably was as well, and whatever else I might be, savior of humanity is _not_ something I can do." 

"So you let me kill you!" 

"You're finally admitting it now. Good." 

"I... no!" Duncan turned sharply away and almost fell as sand gave out under him. Instantly Methos was there, helping him stay upright. "I'd give it all away if you'd give me one last try," he whispered, unable to look at the other man. 

Methos sighed heavily. "I know MacLeod, I know. But that's not in my power to do..." 

Duncan closed his eyes, shoving the other man away and staggering several steps. "This isn't happening," he repeated again. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Methos shake his head. "You leave me with no choice," he said, and began walking towards the ocean. 

Startled, Duncan turned to watch him a moment before calling, "Methos?" 

The other man turned back to look at him for a moment. "There has to be a One, MacLeod. Someone has to use the Prize, and there's a reason it came down to the two of us. I'm not as good at it as you would have been, but if you insist..." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"It's very simple, MacLeod," Methos said, speaking very precisely. "I go back in your place." 

"But... you're dead." 

Methos sighed and looked out over the ocean again. "Yes, which complicates things. I had gotten rather used to my body, but I suppose I'll manage." He looked back at Duncan and shook his head. "I go back in your place, MacLeod... with your body. I get to try and make this life," he said, gesturing around him, "my own. And do what you _should_ have done." 

***********************************

Without warning, the light struck. 

Before, it had been passive, that strange mysterious glow. It had enveloped, it had supported, it had wrapped around MacLeod like a strange blanket, almost peaceful. No more. No it exploded towards him, a dizzying rush of brilliance that struck him squarely on his chest and poured inside him. It raged and swirled around the alley, striking out wildly, a force momentarily more destructive than the lightning that still leapt around it and through it. It pushed that same lightning away from the body, so that it was only the glow that assaulted MacLeod. 

There were whispers in that light, and screams, and fragmented images. None of the Watchers could make anything out clearly, but for one moment in the cacophony of whispers and screams Dawson thought he heard Amy's voice, and then, more chillingly, his own. 

Then another scream was added to the din as MacLeod opened his own mouth and let loose a sound as though his soul itself was being torn away. 

***********************************

"That's not... That's not possible," Duncan said, finishing the sentence decisively. 

Methos turned his attention back to him and shook his head. "I am _really_ getting tired of hearing that, MacLeod." 

"You can't do it." 

"Yes, I can. I don't _want_ to... but it's obvious someone here has to accept the responsibility, and if you're going to be too much of a child, I guess I'll have to do it." The other man turned back to the ocean and took a step into the water. 

"Methos, wait!" 

He did, and a second later Duncan was beside him. The water was warm where it washed against his legs, but it seemed strangely hungry, pulling at him with far more force than it should have had. 

"You'd really do that," Duncan said quietly. 

Methos closed his eyes, and when he replied, it was barely a whisper. "Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I told you, someone has to-" Methos began, but he broke off as Duncan reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. 

"No lies. No sidestepping the truth. Not here, and not now. _Why,_ Methos?" 

There was almost no sound for a moment but the sea washing against the beach. Almost, in that silence, Duncan thought he could hear other things, distant things. At the edge of his hearing, he thought there was the sound of thunder. 

"Because..." Methos began, then broke off for a moment, looking out at the sea. When he turned back to MacLeod, his jaw was tense and his eyes narrowed. "You have been many things to me, Duncan," he said firmly, "but above all you have been a friend. Perhaps the best I had in my entire life. And if it would hurt you that much to go back..." the firmness faded, and he closed his eyes and swallowed. "I can't make you." 

There was silence again, but in it, Duncan could hear the thunder that much more clearly. 

"Thank you," he finally said, and he wasn't sure exactly to what he referred. "I... Methos..." he paused, shaking his head, his hand tightening on the other Immortal's shoulder. Impulsively, he pulled the other man into an embrace, only for a moment. When he released him, Methos' eyes were open again, a look in them that was at once sad and hopeful. 

"Thank you," Duncan said again, and then he turned back to the sea. "How... How do I...?" 

"Get back?" Methos' voice was subdued. "It'll be harder without the boat, which was why I was concerned when it left. But if you really want to-" 

"I do," Duncan interrupted, firmly. 

"Then you'll have to swim," Methos said, quietly. "The rest should come naturally." Duncan nodded and started moving forward without turning back. If he stopped to look for even a moment... 

"MacLeod!" Methos' voice called from behind him, and knee-deep in the surf, Duncan turned back to look for just one moment. 

"Good luck," Methos said, a small smile on his face. 

"And you," Duncan said, just before turning and diving forward into the sea. 

***********************************

The Watchers had long since pressed themselves against the walls, hiding behind what little shelter existed in the alley. The wind was at gale force, battering trash and other assorted debris around with incredible strength, slamming into the walls themselves. One Watcher was already bleeding slightly on his forehead from an encounter with a single loose stone. The lightning continued to rage around them, gouging out long furrows in the concrete and brick wherever it hit. It was impossibly dangerous to be there, yet none of those present would have left for anything. 

This was it. This was the moment. This was the end of the Game. 

The wind, if anything, began to increase in strength, and in addition to the screams being torn from MacLeod, Joe could now hear other sounds. Some made a sort of sense -- the screams and the wailing -- but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single explanation for why he seemed to be hearing the pounding of the surf on a beach. 

The white light was still pouring into MacLeod, but there was less of it now, almost none. Hanging in mid-air, lightning seething all around him while he himself was glowing, the Highlander looked like nothing Joe had ever seen before, or hoped to ever see again. It was terrible, but there was a dark sort of beauty in it, too. 

Then, suddenly, there was no more of that white light, and in the half-second pause that followed, Dawson barely had a chance to grab a quick breath before a wave of pure force, white at its front edge, suddenly slammed out from the motionless figure in the air. Every Watcher present was knocked back onto the ground, and for one terrible, confused instant, Joe was certain he was witnessing not just the end of the Game, but the end of the world as well. 

It was something of a shock when everything around him suddenly subsided and went still. Above, the sky still thundered, but in the alley, the only sounds were the strained breathing of the Watchers all around him. 

He pulled himself painfully to his feet using the wall for support. Dawson wasn't getting any younger, and he suspected that if this had happened even a couple years down the road, he wouldn't have been up to being a witness to it, whether Duncan was a friend or no. 

Amy, he was unsurprised to see, had already gotten to her feet and gone over where MacLeod lay, sprawled on the pavement. "He's alive," she called, and her voice was almost surprised. Joe took it as a sign of how confused things were -- after all, finding an Immortal alive had never been that much of a surprise before. 

He limped over painfully, trying to ignore another form laying on the pavement not far away. Yeah, he understood that this was how it had to be for them, for Immortals, but watching that fight had still hurt. Methos was, or rather had been, a friend, as much as Duncan MacLeod was. 

Duncan, who's eyes were now opening, fixing on him through a haze of pain. "Joe," he said thickly, then swallowed. "I'm back," he managed, then drifted off into unconsciousness as rain finally began to fall from the sky, washing away a great deal of evidence, both in tears and in blood, of what had happened there. 

***********************************

The light, as it turned out, was as indescribable in real life as it had been in his mind. 

Everything else was pretty much as it had been in that place, too. It had taken Duncan a long time to find the island, but remembering, holding that memory close to his heart when things got too painful, he had to try. Eventually the searching had paid off, and he was here, now, standing on a beach he'd never been on before, on a small island off the coast of Greece, and nothing was missing from the place he remembered. 

Almost nothing, in any case. When he landed he found himself drawn unerringly to a place in the sand near the tree line, where he and a certain old man had laid, drinking beer and discussing nothing in particular. There was nothing there, and never could be, but it still gave Duncan's heart a peculiar lurch to see the plain, unmarked space. There were no patterns drawn in the sand, no cooler waiting not far away, no evidence at all of anything. No evidence at all of an event that had, in a very real way, changed the destiny of the world. 

There were people not far away, waiting for him to come back and resume the work that had come along with being the One, but Duncan found himself waiting, hesitating, almost hoping for a sign, for something. Finally, he turned to the ocean, to that strangely bright sea, and spoke. 

"You were right," he said quietly, then found himself pacing a little. "You were right about it being too important, and about me needing to be the one who did it. But I still... I still wish you were hear, Methos. I still miss you." 

It was silent save for the waves crashing on the beach, but for a moment, he thought he could hear something. Not thunder, not screams, but a voice, a very quiet voice, saying, "I miss you too." 

Standing not far from the water's edge, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod smiled. "Run and tell all of all of the angels," he said softly into the breeze, "that everything is alright." 

*******   
The End   
*******

  
Learn To Fly   
_by The Foo Fighters_

Run and tell all of the angels   
This could take all night   
Think I need a devil to help me get things right

Hook me up a new revolution   
Cause this one is a lie   
We sat around laughing and watched the last one die

I'm looking to the sky to save me   
Looking for a sign of life   
Looking for something to help me burn out bright   
I'm looking for a complication   
Looking cause I'm tired of lying   
Make my way back home when I learn to fly

I think I'm done nursing the patience   
I can wait one night   
I'd give it all away if you give me one last try

We'll live happily ever trapped   
if you just save my life   
Run and tell the angels that everything is alright

I'm looking to the sky to save me   
Looking for a sign of life   
Looking for something to help me burn out bright   
I'm looking for a complication   
Looking cause I'm tired of trying   
Make my way back home when I learn to fly   
Make my way back home when I learn to

Fly along with me, I can't quite make it alone   
Try and make this life my own   
Fly along with me, I can't quite make it alone   
Try and make this life my own

I'm looking to the sky to save me   
Looking for a sign of life   
Looking for something to help me burn out bright   
I'm looking for a complication   
Looking cause I'm tired of trying   
Make my way back home when I learn to   
I'm looking to the sky to save me   
Looking for a sign of life   
Looking for something to help me burn out bright   
I'm looking for a complication   
Looking cause I'm tired of trying   
Make my way back home when I learn to fly   
Make my way back home when I learn to fly   
Make my way back home when I learn to, learn to, learn to


End file.
